


Last Serving Daughter

by starbirdrampant (ineasako22)



Series: The Rogue Dreams of Stars [2]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineasako22/pseuds/starbirdrampant
Summary: Fifteen years after the fall of the Republic, Queen Sosha Soruna – the latest of Emperor Palpatine's puppet rulers of Naboo – decides that she's had enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic serves as both a tie-in and a preview to The Rogue Dreams of Stars. Suffice it to say, in RDoS Anakin Skywalker never became Darth Vader, but Padmé Amidala is still considered dead, "murdered" by Jedi (at least according to Imperial propaganda). Other than these bits of information, you will not need to have read RDoS to understand this story.

Sosha was ten when the stormtroopers lined up just outside her front door, two rows of gleaming white armor flanking the dour, gray figure of Moff Tarkin (not Grand Moff, not yet). Her parents accepted him into the formal parlour with shaky bows – though her parents’ quick glance to her brother’s nursemaid meant that Sosha and her brother Marin were sequestered upstairs before the front door even opened.

But Marin was fussy, so Adeé didn’t even notice when Sosha slipped out the balcony, clambered down the trellis of old vines that clung to the side of the house, and padded carefully through the garden until she could hide under the barely-open windows of the parlour.

“ – has chosen your daughter for this great honor,” Tarkin was saying in a dry, uninterested voice. “I trust you do not intend to offend him?”

“Of course not,” her father replied. “The Emperor honors us with his attention."

Even without a clear view into the room – just a glimpse of the lake blue ceiling and the bone white gleam of a stormtrooper helmet – Sosha could hear the sad resignation in her father’s voice and felt her skin prickle with goosebumps.

But it was her mother’s quiet weeping – nearly inaudible against the rhythmic thumping of armored boots as Tarkin and his troopers left – that frightened her more.

~~~

At eleven, Sosha found herself transported to Theed under the watchful gaze of a bored Imperial official, who quickly enrolled her in the Legislative Academy of Theed – one of the most prestigious schools on the planet, if not the sector – before washing his hands of her. Only a week later, she discovered that she’d been fast-tracked for one of the top legislative learning programs the Academy had to offer.

It only took her three months to realize that it wasn’t because she’d earned it.

~~~

By thirteen – after almost a year and a half of learning more about the galaxy’s “illustrious Emperor” than her own planetary government – Sosha found herself standing before the assembled people of Theed, her face painted in red and while, as a headdress with the royal Jewel of Zenda was carefully fitted to her head. When at last the jewel was in place and sunlight struck fiery reflections from the stone, she listened to the people roar in approval and realized their cheers were as empty and meaningless as the crown she wore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ – need your signature… Your Highness?”

Sosha jumped, the beads of her headdress rattling guiltily against the back of the throne. “My apologies, Governor Bibble,” she said, grateful for the face paint that hid her rising flush. “Could you please repeat that?”

Tarvis Bibble, Governor of Theed, was too much of a consummate politician to scowl at the Queen of Naboo, but Sosha could hear the annoyance that lent a bite to his words at he spoke again. “The celebrations for Empire Day, your Highness? The event coordinators were hoping for your signature on the final preparations.”

“Of course.” Sosha inclined her head, fighting the urge to grab the antique beads that dangled and chimed by her ears and fling the whole lot of them across the throne room. “Tomorrow morning, at their earliest convenience.”

Bibble nodded with the barest modicum of politeness before turning back to the Royal Advisory Council, his body language speaking louder than he ever would that the Queen’s attention was no longer necessary. 

Sosha resisted the urge to pull a face, conscious, as always, of the thick white face paint with its red and gold beauty marks that always cracked and smeared something fierce if she did anything other than stare impassively about the room.

Yanked so abruptly from her wool-gathering, she spared a moment to eye the Royal Advisory Council, clustered though they were at nearly the far end of the throne room. Okay, fine, maybe not the _far end_ , but there was a fair amount of space between their plain, straight-backed seats and the great marble slab that made up the decorative desk in front of the throne. The only people who _didn’t_ seem to think she had the Direllian Plague – or something else equally unsavory – were the two handmaidens who stood on either side of the throne, their hands clasped before them and their heads bowed under their hoods.

 _Two years of ruling_ , she mused. _Two years, and all I’m good for is parades and decisions on_ party decorations.

She narrowed her eyes at the side of Bibble’s head, nearly glaring at the mop of ginger and white hair that fluttered and waved with the motions of Bibble’s hands as he spoke more enthusiastically to the Royal Advisory Council then he ever had to her.

“ – handle the Gungan trade tariffs,” he was saying. “The prices of wares from Otoh Gunga have gone up again, despite the Emperor’s trade sanctions. If we are to meet the exportation quotas then we’ll need to step up taxations in the southeast and – ”

“On what grounds?” Sosha asked, a sudden thrill tickling her stomach as she straightened in her seat. “I don’t recall seeing any particular need for an increase in revenue in the southeast. Most of the inhabitants there pay their taxes on time.”

The silence that followed her statements was so loud that she fancied she could hear an echo of the beads rattling on her headdress all the way out in the hallway. And consummate politician or not, that was definitely a scowl on Tarvis Bibble’s face.

“With all respect, your Highness,” he simpered with barely concealed impatience. “This matter is already being handled by my office. There is no need to concern yourself.”

Sosha bit back a grin (and tried to ignore the slow churn of anger at Bibble’s condescending tone). “I was not aware the southeastern swamps fell under the purview of the Governor of Theed. Has the city expanded recently?”

Bibble’s scowl had nearly reached sneering levels. “Your Highness is well aware that it has not.”

“Well, in which case – ”

At the far end of the throne room, by the main doors, Sosha was caught by the stern glare of her Chief of Security, Captain Korro, who shook his dark head minutely as she opened her mouth to retort.

“I- In which case,” she continued, internally grimacing at her faltering stammer. “I believe this Council is done for today.” She rose in a rustle of skirts, noting with fleeting satisfaction that the Royal Advisory Council had to rise as well. “If you’ll excuse me, my lords, my ladies – ” She gave an almost half-bow to Bibble, “ – Governor. I have other matters to attend to.”

She swept out from behind the Royal Desk – it probably had some other name she couldn’t be bothered to remember – like one of her parade floats through the streets of Theed, making sure to take her sweet time walking past each member of the Royal Advisory Council as they dipped into bows or curtseys according to their preference. She stopped in front of Governor Bibble, looking up at him with her eyes as wide and guileless as she could possibly make them, and waited for his bow before continuing through the main doors and into the corridor, her handmaidens and Captain Korro trailing behind her.

”You need to be more careful,” Korro warned her in an undertone as they passed into the Royal Apartments, her handmaidens following like shadows. “Governor Bibble is not a good man to cross. He’s not his uncle.”

Sosha scoffed. “Maybe _I’m_ not someone _he_ should cross. Has he ever thought of that?” She started tugging at the confounded beaded headdress, barely noticing as a few strings of beads cascaded to the floor in her haste. “I’m _tired_ of just being the pretty doll that just gets propped up on a parade float every so often when they need someone with ‘authority.’”

Korro frowned. “That kind of thinking may get you killed, your Highness. As your chief of security, I must caution you against any rash form of action that – ”

Sosha yanked the headdress off, wincing only slightly at the pull of the pins in her hair. One of her handmaidens caught the now-snarled mess of beads and delicate filagree before it hit the floor. “Oh come on, Korro, Palpatine put me here. It’s not like Bibble can remove me without the old goat’s say-so.”

“ _Emperor_ Palpatine,” he said, glaring her into silence and waving a dismissal to the handmaidens, “may have put you on the throne, but he can remove you just as easily. Do not make the mistake of underestimating him.” 

Lounged across a low couch with little care for the horrendous wrinkles her dress was forming, Sosha pouted. “Then Bibble could at least include me in _my_ government. Did you know he’s planning on illegally taxing the Gungans? He’s going to throw Naboo back into civil war and all those ninnies on the Royal Advisory Council are just going to _let_ him.”

Korro’s mouth thinned. “Your Highness, if you insist on more outbursts like today, then I’m going to put a privacy screen between yourself and the Council and you won’t be able to say _anything_!”

Sosha blinked, her mouth gaping in shock. 

“You _need_ to be more careful,” he warned. “The Emperor cannot afford to have any sort of discord or rebellious actions taking place on his homeworld, otherwise he will appear weak to the rest of the galaxy. If he appears weak, then he must take action to rectify that apparent weakness, and that means _removing_ anyone and anything that might be harboring rebellion.” He pinned her with his dark, serious gaze. “As the Queen, you’re the public face of the government. Any examples that must be made _will fall on you_ if you’re not careful.”

He sighed. “I am your Chief of Security, my lady. My loyalty is to you and the Throne of Naboo. But that means I will not let you throw your life away on the whims of a temper tantrum.”

Sosha flushed but said nothing, keeping her gaze focused on the richly carpeted floor until Korro sighed again. 

“Good night, my lady. I’ll inform the kitchens that you’ll be dining in this evening.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moonlight spilled across the floor, gilding the marble floors and delicate, fluted columns of the Queen’s Apartments in a rush of liquid silver that refracted against the polished stone until the room was almost as bright as day. 

Sosha lay in the center of the massive Queen’s Bed – made from the softest, most supportive materials, and clad in the most sensuous sheets money could buy – and sighed. Even without glancing at the clock, she knew it was only a few hours before her handmaidens would enter and wake her for her usual morning routine of washing, braiding, primping, and dressing that had to take place before she could go _anywhere_.

With a huff of frustration, she slid out from under the satin sheets, stuffed her feet into the dainty slippers by her bedside, and yanked on a sheer silk robe that probably cost a middle class family a month’s salary just to buy a _sleeve_ , before pulling open a door to the balcony that ran three fourths of the way around her tower.

The wind rising from the Solleu Falls below was thick with spray that dusted her sleeves with little motes of light like stardust. It was also _cold_ in a way that she hadn’t felt since leaving the mountains almost five years before. But despite the chill – and her chattering teeth – Sosha couldn’t bring herself to head back inside.

“It’s a gilded cage,” she grumbled, her teeth rattling enough that she almost couldn’t hear the roar of the falls. “If this is what the Emperor’s ‘honor’ looks like, Mama, then he can have it _back._ ”

On the horizon, a storm rumbled, the faint flashes of lightning and tiny growls of thunder barely registering against the cool silver moonlight and the ever-present crash of the falls. 

_It’s times like this,_ Sosha thought, _when I can see the benefit of being a mud farmer on the southern continent. So what if I’m a puppet queen_ , she grumbled, finally giving in to the cold and heading back inside. _So what if nothing I say really_ matters _. So what if I can’t do anything to actually help my people when that scheming low-life of a Governor plots to tax them out of house and home._

She kicked at an antique chest of drawers set – toes up like her mother taught her (“If you need to kick someone, little Sosha, make sure you don’t break your foot when you do so”) – that was probably older than she was, and felt a momentary surge of satisfaction when the old wood dented under the ball of her foot. The satisfaction quickly died, however, when something fell to the marble floor with a clatter that sounded suspiciously like something breaking.

She muttered a curse that had made one of her handmaidens faint last week and flicked on her bedside lamp, careful to keep the lamp facing away from the door that led to the handmaidens’ quarters in case any of them were still awake.

There _was_ debris around the chest of drawers, but despite the dent made by her foot, she couldn’t see anything wrong with it. She sank into a crouch, her robes pooling around her and carefully stuck a hand under the chest of drawers, her fingertips feeling around in the dust and wood splinters and… a box?

It _was_ a box, she realized when she pulled it free. Simply made, but very expensive (or she was no judge of fine hardwoods). It was about the size of her palm, no thicker than two fingers high, and after a moment’s puzzlement, Sosha found the hidden catch by the hinges that made the box pop open with a _snick._

Inside were datacubes, about seven or eight in total, and each of them was timestamped in consecutive order with dates that were… Sosha blinked, rubbed at her eyes with a slightly grimy hand, and peered at the datacubes again. If she was reading them right, then none of the timestamps on those datacubes were younger than thirty years old, which would put them around the time of Queen Amidala…

She nearly dropped it.

Her fingers tightened on her prize before it could hit the floor (again), and she immediately moved to the delicately carved and filigreed desk in the corner of the room, yanking out her datacube reader and carefully slotting in the oldest datacube. If these ‘cubes really _were_ from Padmé Amidala’s reign…

Of all the Kings and Queens she’d had to learn about in that joke of a legislature program at the Academy, Amidala had been one of her favorites. Of course Amidala’s history had been heavily curated to fit in with the Empire’s educational standards, which meant that only the barest attention was paid to the Invasion of Naboo (one of Sosha’s favorite historical periods) in favor of writing about how loyal Amidala had been to her post as a senator before being brutally assassinated by Jedi. But even the Empire’s censors couldn’t quite hide everything, and what little she could find about Amidala had been enough to cement her place as Sosha’s favorite Queen.

For a heartstopping moment, the data-reader’s screen remained stubbornly dark, despite the datacube shoved into its port. Then with a sluggish whine, the screen flickered to life, revealing a girl about Sosha’s age with brown hair and brown eyes, wiping away the white and red makeup of the Queen of Naboo. The girl gave the screen a hesitant smile, then turned with a laugh at some remark made off-camera.

_“You can’t say that, Sabé, what would Captain Panaka think?”_

Whatever Sabé replied with was obviously amusing, because the girl nearly slapped the camera with her make-up wipe she was laughing so hard.

 _“Shhh, shhh,”_ she laughed. _“I’m making my vid diary.”_ Sabé muttered off-camera. _“This is for posterity, Sabé. I already have the diary they’re going to say was written by the Queen.”_ Her expression sobered… but only slightly. _“This is for me.”_

She continued. _“My name is Padmé Naberrie. Amidala now, I suppose. And today was my coronation.”_ Padmé looked at a clock and laughed. _“It is now almost five hours past midnight and if Sabé hadn’t hustled me out of that throne room I probably would still be there.”_

In the background, Sabé said something.

 _“I do appreciate it, Sabé,”_ Padmé replied. _“None of us liked listening to Sio’s speech. For someone who’s as good as he is at politics, he’s far too long-winded at times.”_

_“Anyways, hi I’m Padmé, this is my vid diary – yes Sabé, my vid diary – and I guess I’m just letting you know for posterity’s sake that it doesn’t matter what the Royal Advisory Council thinks, I’m going to make sure there’s some changes around here.”_

The camera froze on Padmé’s face, alight with conviction, and Sosha paused the vid before it could pass to the next entry. Her stomach was fluttering with excitement. Finding an entire box of _personal_ vids from Padmé Amidala herself? With no Imperial censors cutting out the good bits? Sosha was nearly beside herself. 

The next few entries were mainly about mundane Palace life, though there were a few tidbits about arguments with the Royal Advisory Council that Sosha filed away for later remembrance. Then the timestamp for the vids jumped forward, leaving behind a gap of two whole months before starting up again.

The first thing Sosha noticed in this vid was the state of the room. The familiar fluted columns were cracked and crumbling, the window drapes dusty and half-torn from their curtain rods. A few scorch marks could be seen on the stone around the room, but the biggest change was the curtain of smoke that hung over Theed.

Padmé looked tired.

 _“It’s been three months, but the Trade Federation are finally out of my city,”_ she said with grim satisfaction. Then, grief. _“We lost Master Jinn in the initial fighting, though Obi-wan and Anakin have been invaluable in helping us get back on our feet. They’re going to leave soon, though, just after the Freedom Day celebrations.”_ She sighed. _“I can’t say I’m surprised. I just wish…”_ She lifted her chin in defiance, but her mouth trembled. _“I wish they would stay. I’ve grown used to having them around. But they have their duty and I have mine, and Duty doesn’t care what gets lost by the wayside.”_

She paused then, her hands clenching on the table. _“Sabé says it’s okay to act our age, even after everything that’s happened. But… it’s difficult. The Royal Advisory Council are back, and most of them are none the worse for wear – even if a few of them_ should _take a leave of absence for all our sakes.”_ She snorted. _“They keep asking me if I want to go lie down, or take a recess. The Governor of Ohma-Dun even asked me if I wanted to retire to a fainting couch. A_ fainting _couch. As if I were some air-headed society girl who didn’t call for a vote of no confidence in the Supreme Chancellor or who didn’t command a platoon of men to retake the Palace and capture the Viceroy of the Trade Federation._

 _“So long as the Royal Advisory Council keeps treating me like a child instead of a Queen, then I can’t ‘act my age.’ So it’s time I reminded them that I_ am _their Queen.”_

A sigh.

_“I guess I have a lot of work to do.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Sosha’s handmaidens noticed the dark circles under her eyes when they shuffled into her room the next morning, then none of them mentioned it. Instead, the morning routine proceeded as normal, with Sosha getting stuffed into a ridiculously ornate dress with at least ten layers, slathered up with facepaint and the requisite beauty marks, and her hair brushed and oiled and braided to within an inch of its life before being pinned into a headdress with more beads than a – 

“Not that one.” Sosha told the handmaiden that came out holding an even more ornately beaded headdress than the day before. The girl blinked in surprise but paused nonetheless, her hands holding the headdress uncertainly near her chest as the rest of the activity in the room came to a halt.

Sosha rose from the low bench where she’d been having her makeup applied. With the white base and only part of her beauty marks filled in, she knew she probably looked bizarre, but if she had to spend one more day in some beaded monstrosity just because Governor Bibble thought that was what looked _ladylike_ , then she was going to scream.

The closet – unsurprisingly larger than her room, dressing room, and bathing rooms combined – was softly lit with a warm, golden glow that emanated from the sconces placed every few paces along the walls. Between the lights, large wooden closets held rows of dresses, each organized by the type of situation, season, and location that would require a Queen to wear them.

Sosha scowled at the racks upon racks of beaded headdresses that were snuggled up next to the door, before lifting her skirts and heading deeper into the closet. Ignoring the thin layer of dust that had built up on some of the older cabinets, she started pulling open doors, revealing headdresses that probably hadn’t seen the light of day in years. One of them caught her eye, a gold and black number that had – to her delight – absolutely _no beads._

The gold was a headband that would swoop low over her forehead before falling into wing-like sweeps just over her ears. The black was an already-attached headpiece that lifted up from the gold headband before gathering into two thick coiled tails that would fall nearly to the floor. A gauzy slip, set off the to the side, was meant to go over everything to give her a sort of ethereal glow whenever the light would hit her skin, but Sosha left that aside and just picked up the headdress itself and brought it back out to her rather startled handmaidens.

“I believe this one will do for today,” she told them. The piece would, in fact, go famously with the light gold dress that they’d chosen for her today, but the headdress was so unlike the delicate beaded coronet that they’d originally chosen that the overall look of the outfit would definitely err on the side of power rather than sweetness and light.

The handmaidens hesitated.

“It will take some time to clean, your Highness,” one said. “We may be late for the meeting with the Governor.”

Sosha smiled blithely, her eyes sharp. “So long as I don’t have to wear anything with beads, you’re welcome to choose something that’s been cleaned more recently.” She put on a moue of distaste. “I just can’t _stand_ those beads, they’re far too noisy.”

It was the truth, but the hint of spoiled child that she shoved at the front of her words made the handmaidens relax. Apparently, preferences in clothing they could handle. Dressing to intimidate that sleemo of a Governor was not.

The headdress was whisked away to be cleaned – along with the gauzy slip she’d been hoping they’d forget, drat it – and the morning routine continued. A few additional touches were added to her makeup: bits of gold paint at her eyes; and the usual red beauty marks were painted over in gold. With only ten minutes to spare, Sosha was chivvied out of the dressing room in the gold dress and the headdress she’d picked out for herself and she and her handmaidens hurried along the corridors until they reached the Royal Advisory Council chambers, arriving with only minutes to spare.

“Your Highness,” Governor Bibble said with a frown as she and her entourage entered. “Tardiness is hardly polite even in – ”

“Do you like it?” Sosha asked as brightly as she could manage, cutting his scold off at the pass. “My new headdress? I found this morning. I think it’s just _darling_. So shiny too!”

Bibble gaped at her, the head of steam he’d obviously been building up dissipating like a popped balloon underneath her relentless (forced) cheer.

“Yes...of course,” he said, his nose wrinkling. “It’s lovely your Highness.”

Sosha turned in a swirl of skirts and scattered handmaidens and seated herself on the throne, while the rest of the Royal Advisory Council was left standing like eekas[1] in the rain. As she busied herself setting her skirts to rights, she suppressed a smile at the flabbergasted looks on the Council’s faces.

“Governor Bibble,” she asked, her tone sickly-sweet, “are all the preparations done for your tax initiative you mentioned yesterday?”

“They… are, yes,” he replied warily as he and the rest of the Council took a seat. “The troopers are helping with the collection as we speak.”

Sosha nearly clapped her hands like a delighted child, but decided it might be too much, if Captain Korro’s face at the far end of the room was anything to go by. “That is excellent news, Governor. I’m sure you and your men will perform admirably.” She schooled her face into an expression of helpless confusion. “They will be alright, won’t they? Your men? I know it can get a little dangerous… down… down _there._ ”

Sosha wanted to spit as soon as those words left her mouth. Harmless words they might seem, but the bigoted taste lingered. 

She’d met Gungans once before, after her coronation. They were kind, wonderful people with as much right to their own lands and culture as anyone, but if she gave Bibble any indication of what she really thought, then she might as well kiss her inklings of a plan goodbye.

Confronted at last with what he thought was familiar, Bibble relaxed into a greasy smile. “Of course, your Highness,” he soothed. “Our men will be perfectly safe. The Imperial Academy has graciously agreed to lend us a few stormtroopers to make sure the materiel transfer goes as smoothly as possible.”

 _Stormtroopers? Forcing my people to give up their most valued possessions?_ _Over my dead body._ If her smile became a little fixed, thankfully Bibble didn’t notice.

“And the revenue will be removed to the proper locations of course, I trust?” Sosha asked.

Bibble was looking a little less comfortable. “Yes of course, your Highness. It will all be done as it needs to.”

She beamed at him. “Splendid. I’m so sorry for derailing your schedule. What were we supposed to talk about today?”

Bibble looked non-plussed, his mouth stuck in what looked like a confused half-aborted sneer as her words flounced their way to his ears. The rest of the Council wasn’t much better. All of them were looking at her as if they couldn’t quite believe what they’d heard. But Sosha kept a vapid smile pasted on her face and slowly she saw them begin to relax as her actions cemented the Council members’ opinions on what they thought she was like.

 _Men_ , Sosha sneered internally at the Council as Bibble began to explain in childlike terms his efforts for “providing peace and security for the masses.” _They can always be counted upon to believe in their own superiority._ She caught Captain Korro’s gaze from the far side of the room and sent him a clandestine wink. _Though there are some good ones._

By the time the meeting was over, the only good thing that had come out of her little charade was the fact that at least she was being _included_ , even if the entirety of the Royal Advisory Council thought she was a vapid pre-teen. 

_It worked to my advantage though,_ Sosha mused as the Council ended for a lunch with the Theed Preservation Society. _No one thinks to hide what they’re saying from a silly little girl._ Bibble in particular seemed prone to forgetting she’d been confrontational with him in the past and had nearly poured out his entire governmental agenda. All Sosha had to do was keep layering on the helpless looks, confused questions, and nauseatingly over-blown compliments, and the egotistical idiot lapped it up like a dog.

By the time the lunch was over – she made sure only to eat tiny bites of the excessively rich food – and another minor Council session had been called, Sosha was reasonably certain that she had figured out a route that would get her past the patrols and out of the palace grounds by midnight, leaving her a three hour window to go to the Imperial Repository (Bibble had let it slip that was where the “taxes” were being shunted to), steal the taxes _back_ , and stash them away to return to the rightful owners after Imperial attention had died down before she had to be back in her room at two hours before dawn. Difficult, she admitted, but not impossible.

The real trick would be getting past her handmaidens. They were all well-educated and highly trained young ladies (at least in the arts of makeup and hair design) from good, Imperial-friendly families. It was highly unlikely that any of them would be willing to keep quiet about Sosha’s plan if they knew, much less help with it. And if they reported her…

Sosha shivered at the thought. If it got out that the Queen of Naboo was participating in potentially rebellious actions against the Empire, then it wouldn’t just be Sosha the Imperials would be punishing – her mind shied away from the alternative – it would be everyone she cared about, plus a few more besides.

 _I’ll just have to be quick, then,_ she decided, _and stealthy. Consequences or no, the Gungans don’t deserve to lose their money or their livelihoods just because the Governor of Theed is a prideful twit._

Sosha glanced at the clock, mentally counting down the hours as her handmaidens carefully disentangled her from her headdress and hung up her dress.

 _Two hours,_ she thought. _Then showtime._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the far side of Theed, Sosha lay under a close-trimmed hedge, a pilfered blaster under her hip, and an itch with the worst possible timing ever. She eyed the guards that were passing by, their boots moving in perfect unison only a meter away from her hiding place, and tried to think invisible thoughts. 

_Look at the ground, look at the ground. I am invisible. I am a shrub, just a little shrub. You probably haven’t watered me in a while…_ The bootsteps rounded a corner and she muffled a sneeze with her elbow, cursing when dirt puffed up into her nose from the motion. Her eyes watering, she glanced from side to side, and seeing the path was clear, bolted to the fence that separated the Imperial Compound from the rest of the city.

 _Oh this was stupid,_ she thought as she scrambled up the sheer duracrete wall. _This was monumentally stupid, ow._ Rubbing her elbow, she ducked behind a pile of crates. _I ought to have a word with Captain Korro. That combat instructor he hired really isn’t very good._

She wrapped shaking fingers over the grip of her blaster and, after waiting for _another_ patrol to pass, carefully picked her way from shadow to shadow, ducking more stormtrooper patrols, Imperial droids, and the occasional searchlight all the while.

The Theed Imperial Complex was built shortly after the Emperor came to power, and was a grey duracrete monstrosity crammed into the middle of Theed’s marble domes and delicate, artisan architecture. But, monstrosity of architecture or not, it was certainly a well guarded monstrosity.

Sosha was already two hours behind the schedule she’d set for herself and was eyeing the still-dark horizon nervously every chance she got. No one seemed to have noticed her yet, but every time she heard the faint _click_ of the complex’s intercom, her heart nearly leaped from her chest.

 _Of course, if Captain Korro found me missing,_ she thought as she tucked herself into the alcove of a service entrance and carefully pried off the control panel to expose the wiring. _He’d hardly send up flares from the palace towers. If anything,_ the controls sparked and she muffled her hiss with her burned thumb, _he’d probably only send out those of the Naboo Guard he could trust._ She snorted silently. _Probably ‘cause he’d think Bibble tried to have me assassinated._

(If she felt a twinge of consternation at the thought, then she ignored it.)

With a low hum and an angry whine from the control panel, the service door slid open, revealing a crawl-space roughly the size of an astromech.

Sosha made a face. _Of course there’s only enough space for an astromech,_ she thought as she crawled along the tiny corridor. _Why do Imperials have to make everything so_ difficult _?_

A whisper of conversation froze her in her tracks, her face bathed in the slats of light from a vent. 

“ – an alarm on the south fence.”

“Think it’s the Rebels?”

“On Naboo? Yeah right.”

“I heard there was an attack on Imperial Center.”

“Those ones were suicidal. Besides, what’s out here?”

“Uh, maybe that money shipment from the swampies?”

A laugh. “Gourds and tree roots. That’s all that’s in there. The Rebels are welcome to it. Come on, the mess has new nutrient cubes. Let’s see how bad these ones taste.”

Sosha glared at the vent, her breath washing hot over the hand she’d pressed to her face to prevent any noise from escaping. _Bigots,_ she thought, aiming a scowl at the retreating bootsteps. _Are all Imperials this stupid or do they just pick them that way._ She snorted. _Probably both._ But the conversation did give her an idea on where to look for the tax shipment. 

About a week after her coronation, she’d accompanied Bibble and a few other toadies of his to meet Commander Sael of the Theed Imperial Complex. There’d been a few minutes of mutually unimpressed small-talk between herself and the Commander, before she’d been led on a tour of the Complex. Ostensibly, the tour had been for intimidation purposes, a way to impress upon the new Queen the might of the Empire, but now she had another use for it.

The service corridor reached a T-junction and Sosha turned right, making sure to keep an ear out for approaching droids. Removing crates from the Complex would be harder than inputting a spike into the data drives, but it would be necessary if she wanted to – 

Alarms blared in the main corridor, and Sosha jumped, her shoulder smacking the wall. With a curse, she shoved herself into a stumbling run, her body bent nearly in half, with one hand outstretched so she wouldn’t run into anything. If an alarm had been triggered – _but I haven’t_ done _anything_ – then she would need to move quickly if she was still going to reach the vault where the tax shipment was being stored.

Boots hammered down the main corridor, underlaid by the sound of plastoid alloy plates cracking against each other. Twice, Sosha had to pause behind a corner and hold her breath, heedless of the spots dancing behind her eyes, as stormtroopers opened service doorways and gave a cursory shine of their blaster-lights into the darkened corridor before ducking back out and sealing the doors behind them.

Finally she reached the end of the corridor (another doorway that emptied out onto the south side of the Complex) and breathed a sigh of relief when the door proved to be unsealed. The yard outside, however, proved to be a different story.

Stormtroopers ran to and fro, their blasters clutched tight to their chests as officers in their starched gray uniforms and stiff-billed hats pulled low over their foreheads directed the running squads to a warehouse on the south side of the – 

Sosha cursed. The stormtroopers were headed directly to the vault where the taxes were being kept! How in the Ancestors’ name had they known where she was going? And why were they looking in her direction – 

“Over there!”

She ducked, her long black braid swinging, as a flurry of blaster bolts peppered the duracrete where her head had been, her fingers pressing at the controls with frantic haste as bootsteps pounded closer.

“Stop! You’re coming with us!”

A hand brushed her shoulder, its grip bruising, only to be knocked aside as the entire south wall of the complex exploded inward in a hailstorm of dust and debris. Sosha was slammed against the service door – as it belatedly opened – and she quickly stumbled inside, yanking on the interior controls to lock the door and buy her a little more time. 

Her ears were ringing, and dust coated the inside of her nose and mouth, drifting into her eyes until they watered. Stunned, she sagged against the interior wall. Her mind was scrambling to sort itself out, but all she could think of was, _who had set the explosives?_

There hadn’t been an explosion in Theed since before the clone wars – in Padmé Amidala’s reign, in fact – and even then, the explosions had been caused by battle droids, not…

 _Was that the Rebellion? Here?_ She forced herself into a stumbling run as her head started pounding. _But who…? Korro never said there was any kind of plans for this – of course he wouldn’t, it’s not his focus – but then who? And why?_

A door slid back in the wall in front of her, letting in a blinding flash of light that left Sosha reeling, her hands raised to shield her eyes. An iron grip clamped around her wrist and dragged her into the main corridor before wrenching her arms behind her back and lifting her until her feet barely dragged on the ground.

“We found the Rebel, sir.”

Sosha blinked blearily as a hand grabbed at her chin and raised her face to the light. 

“Hmmph, I suppose the Rebels are sending _children_ to do their dirty work now.” That voice was familiar. “Lock her in the brig. We’ll interrogate her once this mess is cleaned up.”

The spots in her vision faded, though her nausea from the hit she took during the blast increased, and her eyes widened as the identity of the speaker became immediately, horrifically clear. 

Commander Sael was giving curt orders to a stormtrooper at attention, apparently indifferent to the fact that his men held the Queen of Naboo. For the first time, Sosha was grateful for the identity erasing properties of the royal facepaint. She kept her gaze averted as the stormtroopers dragged her down the corridor, presumably to the aforementioned brig, but Commander Sael never even glanced at her, his attention focused on relaying orders to the underlings that ran back and forth.

She twitched her fingers, trying to test the stormtroopers’ grips without making them think she was doing so, but even then, a finger twitch was all she could manage, her wrists were held so tight. _Korro’s going to kill me_ , she thought as they stepped into a lift. Then her stomach clenched with horror. _They’re going to kill_ Marin.

That thought sent a slow, pervasive shaking throughout her limbs, rattling along her bones until the stormtroopers noticed and shook her until her brain sloshed in her skull.

“Finally figured out the kind of trouble you’re in, Rebel scum?” One of the troopers jeered. “That blast finally knock the stupid out of you?”

The troopers laughed, the sound tinny from within their helmets, and Sosha shivered.

Then the lift doors opened.

“Hey what – ”

“Who are you – ”

There was the sharp retort of a blaster and two armored bodies hit the floor. Without their rough grips keeping her upright, and with the stink of scorched plastoid in her nose, Sosha’s knees hit the floor beside them.

“Hey.” Dainty, manicured fingers brushed her wrist, their apparent delicacy belied by the rough calluses on the web between the forefinger and thumb.

Sosha looked up into a face that was startlingly familiar.

“Hey,” the woman said, her brown eyes kind. “Can you walk?”

Sosha gaped like a mudfish. “You’re…”

The woman’s head snapped to the side and she fired off two quick shots down the hallway with her blaster, turning back only when the sound of two more bodies thudded to the floor.

“My name is Sabé. I’m with the Rebellion. _Can you walk?_ ”

Sosha nodded. “Y- yeah.” She straightened. “I’m not hurt.”

Sabé looked skeptical, but reached down to pull a hold-out blaster from her boot, pressing it into Sosha’s hands. “You know how to shoot?”

Sosha nodded. 

“Good,” Sabé said. “Keep close to my flank and cover me.” She set off at a light jog to a dimly lit corridor, the overhead lights flickering and sparking as the two women passed. Sosha tried opening her mouth to say ‘thank you,’ but a quick look from Sabé was enough to make her shut it again.

Sabé led them up through dusty service corridors and cramped air vents, pausing whenever stormtrooper patrols came close and hurrying whenever the coast was clear. Eventually they reached a hatch in a tunnel that Sosha had never seen before and Sabé jerked her head for Sosha to watch the main tunnel while Sabé worked on the rusted over hatch.

“Was the explosion you?” Sosha asked after a few minutes of silence, her voice hushed.

“Yeah,” Sabé grunted, swearing under her breath as the hatch refused to budge. “I was trying to create a distraction so I could get in and steal some information from the Imperial database.” The hatch creaked and finally began to give, the locking wheel crunching a little as Sabé turned it counterclockwise. “Why were you there?”

“There was a tax shipment from the towns south of Theed. The Governor decided that the city’s ‘infrastructure’ needed an overhaul.”

Sabé paused. “So you went there by yourself?”

“I honestly thought it wouldn’t be that hard,” Sosha whispered as her ears heated under the older woman’s cool stare.

Sabé snorted. “Where was your backup then? Who sent you in?”

“No one,” Sosha shook her head. “I came by myself.”

Sabé was just about to jerk the hatch open when Sosha’s words registered. “I’m sorry, you what?” Her mouth flattened. “How old are you?”

“I’m fifteen!” Sosha snapped, stung. “Old enough to rule a plan – ” 

She clapped her hands over her mouth with a gasp, quailing under Sabé’s suddenly scorching glare.

“I’m sorry,” the other women said, her voice deathly calm. “What did you just say?”

Sosha shook her head.

“Because it sounded like you said that you’re the Queen of Naboo,” Sabé continued. “But _that_ wouldn’t be possible because the _Queen of Naboo_ doesn’t break into Imperial Complexes on her _own_ without any _backup_!”

The last word rang down the tunnel, the echoes distorting the sound until it returned as a faint, wordless roar. 

Sosha’s shoulders were hunched up around her ears, her fingers (and stomach) twisting themselves into knots.

Sabé pinched the bridge of her nose, before muttering something Sosha couldn’t hear. “Well this changes things,” she said. “I’d planned to take you back to my ship and get you offplanet. It wouldn’t be safe for you on Naboo anymore. But now…” She inhaled sharply and Sosha flinched. “ _Now_ I have to devise something different.” She pinned Sosha with a look. “You don’t also have a bad habit of running around without facepaint on, do you?”

Sosha shook her head.

“Well that’s something, at least. Come on. If you’re going to get back to the palace before the handmaidens need to wake you up, then we need to double time.” She yanked on the hatch and it popped open, spewing the scent of mildewy tiles and brackish water. “In you get, your Highness.”

“Sosha,” Sosha said, hesitating at the lip of the hatch. “My name is Sosha.”

Sabé nodded decisively. “Sosha then. But it won’t matter if you don’t _move_.” She gave a push to Sosha’s shoulder and Sosha dropped down into another tunnel. She recognized it as one of the old sewage tunnels that ran under Theed, though it was unusually dry.

“New passage got put in a few decades ago,” Sabé said to Sosha’s questioning glance. “This tunnel got written out of the city plans, which makes it a good way to get to the Palace quickly and without being caught.” She nodded, jerking her chin in the direction they needed to go. “Off you go then.”

Sabé escorted her down the tunnel, her very presence like the heat of a flame between Sosha’s shoulderblades. But something bothered her. How did Sabé know so much about the city? How did she know about the facepaint? Okay that one was probably easy – but how did she know that the tunnel would lead towards the Palace? And – 

“Why do you look like Padmé Amidala?” Sosha asked, half expecting to be snapped at. She stumbled on on silence for nearly five steps before she realized Sabé wasn’t following.

The other woman was staring at her, her gaze oddly focused. “What makes you think I do?” 

Sosha shrugged. “I found some datacubes. A vid diary, really. You look a lot like her.” There was something else too, a name…

Sabé laughed. “I guess schools wouldn’t teach children about me now.” She swiped a hand over her hair. “I was Queen Amidala’s chief Handmaiden. And her body double, sometimes.” She grinned ruefully. 

Sosha gaped at her. “You mean you were _that_ Sabé? But I thought… How are you still alive?”

“There are a lot of things the Empire doesn’t want people to know,” Sabé grinned at her. “But suffice it to say, no I’m not dead.”

“You said you were with the Rebellion.”

Sabé nodded. “That’s right.”

“So if you’re alive, does that mean… that Padmé Amidala is alive too?”

“There are certain things I can tell you,” Sabé replied, choosing her words carefully, “and certain things I cannot.”

“What if I joined the Rebellion?”

Sabé glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “Becoming a Rebel isn’t just some walk in Palace gardens. It means hard work and a _lot_ of danger.” She shook her head. “It’s not what I would suggest for you.”

“What if I had to?” Sosha asked. “The reason I was at the Complex was because Governor Bibble is taxing helpless civilians, just because the _Emperor_ wants more money. I know I’m young, but I want to _do_ something, and I don’t mean just sitting around on a parade float waving at the populace,” she added with a scowl.

“And you think that becoming a Rebel will fix this?”

“The government, my government, is corrupt,” Sosha told her. “I want to fix that.”

For a long moment, Sabé just stared at her, her eyes flicking over Sosha’s determined stance in casual deliberation. Finally, she turned to the wall and pressed on a brick, revealing a control panel set into the wall.

“Even if I do recruit you into the Rebellion,” she said as she slid a data probe into a slot usually meant for maintenance droid. “That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want. There _are_ still rules, and one of the biggest one is ‘don’t do anything on your own.’ You need a team, and judging by how easily you were caught, I’m guessing you don’t have one.” A door slid open in the brick, revealing a long gray hallway that looks eerily similar to the secret Palace hallways that Korro had told her were escape routes...oh. Sabé gestured for Sosha to step though. 

“I won’t be able to help you much more tonight,” she told her. “But if you’re willing to wait, then the Rebellion can get in touch with you to see what you can do for the Rebel Alliance.” She raised an eyebrow. “ _Are_ you willing to wait?”

Sosha nodded and Sabé smiled. “Alrighty then,” she said. “In you get, your Highness. I suggest a soak, or at least a rinse, to get all that smoke and dirt off you. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do.”

“You will?” Sosha asked.

“My word on it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, thankfully, was not a busy one. Sosha was informed, during breakfast, that an incident had taken place at the Imperial Complex, and that Governor Bibble had requested that all audiences and meetings be postponed until the situation was resolved. (Luckily the messenger hadn’t noticed Sosha’s reddened eyes or the bags under her eyes.) She had agreed, readily, and had even sent away most of her handmaidens (mostly so she could get some sleep).

So when a handmaiden knocked cautiously on the door to the Queen’s sitting room, Sosha had to work to keep her irritation from coloring her voice.

“Yes?” she called.

A handmaiden poked her head in. “You have a visitor, your Highness.”

Sosha frowned, but sat upright. “I don’t recall any visitors being on the schedule today.”

The handmaiden grimaced. “Captain Korro has sent on ahead a candidate for our spare handmaiden’s position, your Highness. She’s in the informal receiving room now for her interview.”

Sosha set aside the book she’d been only vaguely interested in. “Very well. I will be there shortly.”

The informal receiving room was only different from the formal receiving room in that it connected directly to the Queen’s Apartments. It made it easier on days such as that one for Sosha to remain in a light, informal dress and circlet instead of cramming herself into a courtly monstrosity. It also meant that Sosha could, by rights, send away all of her attendants to speak with someone in the informal receiving room and hardly anyone would think twice about it. And once Sosha got to the room, she suddenly understood why.

Waiting in the room was a girl about her own age, with black hair, rich, dark-brown eyes, and a small, secret smile that widened into a grin when Sosha entered the room.

“Your Highness,” the girl said. “I am Alana. I was referred by a certain… mutual friend.” She winked.

Sosha blinked, and then it dawned. “You may leave us,” she said to her lone handmaiden, who curtseyed and left the room. She turned to Alana. “You mean…?”

Alana nodded. “Her codename is Blackbird. You understand of course.”

“Oh! Of course,” Sosha nodded in response. “So you’re here to…?”

Alana’s grin turned positively feral. “I was told by a little bird that you needed help getting rid of a few… old sticks in this bushel you have here.” She curtseyed again, winking at Sosha as she did so. “I’m here to serve, my Lady.”

Unbidden, Sosha felt her own grin growing. She looked at Alana, with her ink-black hair, dark brown eyes, and delicate facial features (so like her own) and realized – under the sudden surge of butterflies – exactly what Sabé had given her. After all, even Padmé Amidala had needed a close friend and companion.

“I think,” she said, taking Alana’s hand and pulling her out of her curtsey (and trying to ignore the tingles where their fingers touched), “that you should probably call me Sosha.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Think turkeys. [ return to text ]
> 
>  
> 
> If you have any questions, or just want to say hi, [my tumblr is here](http://starbirdrampant.tumblr.com/)  
> Beta-read by [Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw)


End file.
